Canso: Quant l'aura, Cercamon

When dulcet breezes grow embittered

and once green branches shed their leaves

and birds chant their breviaries,

I sigh and sing

of love which bends, imprisons me;

I've never had love in my power.

Alas, in love I sing no conquests,

but songs of travail, pain;

nothing's so grievously unobtained

as what I want; nothing

finds so much love

as what I cannot have.

For a rare jewel I brighten,

joyous, I've never loved so much;

when I'm with her I'm struck

dumb, mute by my desire;

despair when we're apart

blankets my senses, powders my mind.

All women ever on earth

compared to her aren't worth a damn.

When the whole world darkens,

where she is, there's still light.

God! If I could just touch her

or watch her go naked!

I'm hot and cold all over,

I roar for love, asleep, awake;

I'm so afraid I'll make the wrong move,

I don't even dare think how to ask her;

but I will serve two years or three,

then perhaps she'll know the truth about me.

I'm neither alive nor dead,

well nor in pain, I've got it bad

for I can't tell

if or when I'll have her:

all grace is in her,

she can raise me up or put me down.

I just ask to be driven crazy,

I go around gaping, dazed,

I ask for insults, fine,

and she mocks me up and down;

but out of bad times will come good,

perhaps, if this stuff pleases her.